Silence
by TMBlue
Summary: COMPLETE! It wasn't the fact that she was gone. It was the silence, in all of the places where she had once been. That's what made it real.


**Silence**

It wasn't the fact that she was gone. It was the silence, in all of the places where she had once been. That's what made it real.

The air around him, in each of their rooms, seemed heavier and much colder, like she'd taken part of this little world with her, the part that had made all the difference. An emptiness lingered over every piece of furniture, in the weave of the carpet, and forgotten shampoo bottles on the side of the tub.

Why hadn't it occurred to him, before she'd gone, what she'd be taking away? They'd never been apart for this long. In fact, they'd hardly been apart at all, not since the war had ended and they'd finally accepted that quiet glances and lingering fingertips against wrists wasn't ever going to be enough.

Before they'd gone from separating the part of their relationship that echoed off the walls with each one of their angry rows and the bits that were kept secret, hidden behind over-sized books and chessboards... to mingling chaos, the sounds of ripped shirt seams resounding as loudly as red faced screaming matches and bellowing curses.

He finally moved from the front entrance to cross into the sitting room, cold ashes of last night's fire littering the fireplace. He stepped up next to a mauve armchair, the one Hermione had brought from her parents' house last month when they'd moved in, the first piece of furniture she'd added to their new home.

Here...

...soft lips against wine glasses and laughter by candlelight.  
>...jumpers pulled with a static fizz over shaggy ginger hair and bushy brown curls.<br>...denim clad knees skidding roughly against the wool rug his mother had made for them.  
>...and the sound of a crackling fire as a backdrop to their contented sighs.<p>

He draped his jacket over the armchair, heart still stopping at the way _his _things looked against _hers_. And it took him much to long to move his legs, to find himself standing in their kitchen moments later with a lonely glass of firewhiskey and a bag of crisps. He'd laugh at his pathetic attempt at dinner, but he couldn't seem to produce the correct noise, impossible to force resonance through his try throat. Another sip from his glass and he caught sight of the powdered sugar bag half sealed and tossed lazily into a tin on the counter.

Here...

...the thud of too much sugar dropping into a mixing bowl, the night he'd been given the task of making icing for her chocolate cake.  
>...her fingers through her hair, tangling as she tried to tie it back, away from the eggs she was mixing.<br>...his palms shaking audibly against the counter's edge as he held her between his body and the silverware drawer.  
>...and even tears, cried off the edge of both of their jaws as he sat crumpled on the tile, holding her as he remembered almost losing her.<p>

His body was awkward and uncomfortable, now that he had no one to share it with. He noticed every motion acutely, nerves overreacting with the inability to be properly used, as if even the blood in his veins wasn't sure which way to flow.

There was no sense in turning on the wireless, or the muggle television she'd taught him all about. Even the sound of a rushing shower couldn't fill enough space, couldn't drown out the silence. So he slipped off his shoes, taking as much enjoyment as was possible from being able to strip down as he went, without a hands-on-hips lecture about keeping the place tidy...

But his smile was dead before it could fully form, as he made his way down the hallway towards their bedroom, now down to boxers and no longer feeling so smug about the mess she didn't know he was making...

Here...

...the sound of her clucking her tongue as she followed him into their bedroom, picking up his clothes as she went.  
>…his own chuckle as she slammed the door a little bit too hard, anger no where near as prominent as desire.<br>...her necklace hitting the dresser top as she gently removed it.  
>…and his heavy exhale as he turned to find her already as undressed as he was.<p>

He stood blinking at the perfectly made bed, and for a moment, he felt guilty disturbing it. If it could find peace in this place now, who was he to awaken it to his sadness? He rolled his eyes, trying to brush away this feeling of dread, of sleeping without her for the first time since they'd started sleeping _together_.

And he wondered, wherever she was, was it silent, too?

A whoosh from the sitting room startled him and he jumped as he turned, heart pounding on impact. He made a comical move for his wand, realizing with a muttered swear that he'd left it tucked inside his trouser pocket, halfway down the hallway. His bare feet skidded against the carpet as he lunged for his discarded clothing, aiming his wand around the corner into the sitting room before he could even see the threat that awaited on the other side.

A gasp, through such a familiar set of vocal chords. And he sensed her before he saw her.

"Hermione? !"

Her wide eyes met his, and his eyes roamed from her shoes to her traveling cloak to his wool hat atop her head.

"Sorry! Sorry, I scared you," she breathed, chest rising and falling hypnotically.

"I think _I_ scared you worse..." he muttered, gawking at her. "What are you doing h-"

"It was so quiet there," she interrupted, shivering.

His grin spread slowly as the room settled with her presence, a nearly visible shift in atmosphere, and he was suddenly home.

"You came back," he stated dumbly, still awed by her arrival. As if he'd called her without really knowing it.

"Well, yes, Ron," she said, quirking an eyebrow. "That's about what this looks like, isn't it."

He laughed, grip loosening on his lowered wand as his feet sank further into the carpet.

"Not that I'm not bloody thrilled to see you," he began, "but what about Hogwarts?"

"They'll never know I'm gone," she shrugged, blushing.

His eyebrows shot up under his fringe and his lips parted as he moved a step closer to her.

"You didn't tell anyone? !"

"Of course not."

"Then... you're breaking a rule. Or twelve."

He was sure the temperature was rising, degree by degree, as they moved unconsciously closer... closer...

"Nevermind that," she nearly whispered, fingers moving over cloak clasps as he dropped his wand onto the closest end table to reach up and remove his hat from her head, goosebumps at the way her hair clung to it fiercely, unwilling to let go of his possession.

"Fucking hell, I missed you," he breathed.

"I was gone for eleven hours," as she dropped her cloak to the floor.

"Eleven? That's a bloody long time..." as her fingernails finally raked across his bare chest.

"Much too long," she agreed, as his hands warmed her waist, index fingers slipping up under her jumper.

"Your cloak's on the floor," he pointed out, foreheads inches apart as he lowered his eyes, waiting for the moment when her tongue would make an appearance to nervously lick her lips.

"Might as well break _another _rule."

She licked her lips.

He smiled and leaned fully against her, lifting her feet off the floor as his lips found hers, harmonized laughter into each other's mouths. When she pulled back to smirk, sliding down his body until her feet hit the floor again, he looked into her eyes with a bit of his soul, words tumbling over each in a race to break free.

"I want you to do what's best for you and everything, and I'd feel damn guilty if you got into trouble, but Hermione, let's make a habit out of this, okay? I can't stay here by myself... it's effing terrible."

Her eyes glistened as she grinned.

"You know, I was thinking that very same thing. It's the silence, isn't it? Feels empty in a room when you aren't there..." she tilted her head to the side, surveying him.

He nodded, pressing his forehead down against hers.

"That... and no one scolded me for stripping in the hallway," he whined, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.

She reached up, ruffled his hair, and he closed his eyes to better feel her fingers against his scalp.

"You're all dusty," she said, and he opened his eyes to watch her wrinkle her nose at him.

"Long day at training," he explained. "So, what are we going to do about the dust, then?"

"You don't know how to function without me, do you," she teased, leaning away from him far enough to tug on his hand, leading him through the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Absolutely not."

"Ron," she began as she dropped his hand, stepping softly onto the tile, pulling her shirt off with her back towards him to reveal an overwhelming amount of skin. "What did you have for dinner?"

He closed the door with his bare back, still able to taste his 'dinner', salt from the crisps lingering in the back of his throat.

"You don't want to know," and she turned to raise an eyebrow at him over her shoulder, hair in waves across an expanse of newly revealed skin.

"I love you," she said before unzipping her skirt, and he was speechless until she'd finished lifting one foot at a time to the tub edge in order to slowly pull down her knee socks, dropping them to the tile as she turned, now fully naked, to face him. "You're overdressed," she pointed out.

"I love you," he echoed, left hand against the sink, right palm flat against the wall on the opposite side.

"Prove it."

He grinned. He moved closer.

Here...

...a cascade of water across thin legs and delicate hands, pale freckled shoulder blades and scarred arms.  
>...expanding lungs as they breathed in shallow bursts.<br>...soap bubbles lathered into his hair as she stood on her tiptoes, his hands gladly steadying her hips as she worked.  
>...and the sound of the world making sense again, piece by piece.<p> 


End file.
